We're Going to Worlds!
by Onhiro
Summary: After their victory against Kuromorimine, the girls of Ōarai's sensha-dō team expect some peace and quiet and tearful goodbyes for their graduating members when the unexpected happens: they've been invited to participate in the World Championships! Can the unorthodox team prevail against teams such as Germany, the US, the Commonwealth nations, Russia, and more? Read to find out!
1. Chapter 1

**AN- Well, here I am, starting another fanfic, even though I'm working on a bunch of original stories that I hope to get published someday. Still, I really enjoyed Girls und Panzer, and the relative lack of well written stories prompted me to start this bad boy up. Will I regret it? Maybe. Will it be fun? Most likely. Will I continue? Possibly. Depends on how people react. If a lot of people like the story and I get a good number of reviews asking for me to continue, I will probably go on, but if no one seems interested, I can add this to my pile of 'maybe I'll work on it if I'm really bored and have nothing better to do.' I'd rather continue writing it, but again, if no one seems to like it, well...c'est la vie.**

**Anyway, I don't own Girls und Panzer, nor do I own any of the tanks mentioned within. However, all OCs, and there are a lot of them, are my intellectual property. Ask before use, please.**

**Read, enjoy, and please review!**

CHAPTER ONE

It was unseasonably warm for Ontario, George Danford thought as he carefully scanned the woodline opposite his tank's position through his pair of binos. _I'm surprised the bloody yanks haven't come barreling out of there yet_, he mused as he lowered the binoculars, which his grandfather had carried during the First Gulf War. He rather considered them good luck. It was also nice and silent, the buzz of insects and the occasional bird call the only thing that was heard in the broad field before him, though he expected that that wouldn't last very long. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of his neck, and he swiped it away. Bloody humidity was going to play a part on this one, no doubt. Make sighting targets that much more annoying. Again, he raised the binos and scanned the woods, to see if anything had changed, but still nothing. _Range is about…one thousand metres_, he roughly calculated as he absentmindedly stroked his chin. _Not bad. A bit dodgy with the regulation rounds, but we should still manage it._

Satisfied, he dropped into the confines of his Comet tank, where his crew was waiting in various stages of discomfort, uniform blouses slightly unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up. Wouldn't be so bad if the small fans that they had mounted inside the cramped quarters of the tank were running, but with the engine off to keep noise discipline, everything not necessary was off to preserve the battery. He glanced at his watch. He'd have to order the team to go engines on soon if he wanted to make sure that the batteries didn't die, regardless of the steps they had taken. Where _were_ those damned yanks?!

"Any sight yet?" his gunner, Adriana Beierle, asked from where she sat, slouched back and eyes closed, face shiny and clothes spotting damp patches at her armpits and along the bottom of her trousers. Then again, all of their clothes were. Why did today have to be so bloody warm? Yes, it was early June, but these were record temperatures, if the radio report this morning wasn't lying.

"No sight yet," he replied, and the entire crew groaned. "Aye, aye, look, I know it's hot outside, but let's stop complaining, eh?"

"It's not outside that I care about," Jack Smith, the driver, griped with a smile on his sweaty face. "It's this bloody oven that I'm concerned with!" The rest of the crew gave a quick chuckle, not because the comment had been particularly amusing, but because there wasn't much else to do.

"Yeah, I know, but just keep in mind that we're in a good spot," George reminded them. And that they were. The Canadian team had two Comets and two Cromwells hiding along the shallow ridge that faced the woods that were between them and the American start point. The Cromwells would have difficulty getting any 'kills' with their QF 75mm guns, but their relatively quick fire would be good for suppressive fire and throwing up dirt and smoke down range. Out on the flanks were the two Crusaders, and their QF 6 pounder guns would slow down anything coming at them. Standing in reserves were two Churchill I tanks and two AT 2s, and he was glad that Britain had managed to send over the experimental tank destroyers in enough time for his crews to get used to operating them. There was some benefit to being a part of the Commonwealth nations, he reminded himself as he stood back up, his binoculars coming to his eyes again. During the High School World Championship, all the Commonwealth nations would contribute vehicles and crews to the fight, and so it was understood in the various leagues that vehicles could be traded amongst the different nations for regional and national championships, such as the North American Championship. Which was what they were doing here, at the Land Force Central Area Training Centre Meaford, on loan from the Canadian military for this year's competition. A competition he didn't aim to lose.

"Drink some water," he absently ordered down into the tank as he pulled out his map again, ignoring the groans from his crew.

"If I keep this up, I'm going to have to piss!" Henri Beauchamp the loader groused, Montreal accent thick in his annoyance.

"You've got empty water bottles," Sam Roberts answered. Historically the stocky Second Year student would be operating the hull machine gun, but given the relative uselessness of machine guns in tank warfare, he had taken the role of radio operator away from Henri.

Ignoring the bickering, George looked over the map. His position wasn't actually in the center of the match area, as no one went straight down the middle off the arena. At least, they hadn't in his experience. Too easy to be flanked, or even suppressed from the middle and then fired upon from defensive positions. And given his knowledge of the opposing team's operational style (Tiffany Gardner had a particular love of Patton, from what he remembered) and what the map told him, he had placed his tanks where he expected them to come. The yanks had started in the north, and he in the south. The west side of the match area had some decent cover, but afforded more opportunities for a defending team. The east was much more open, with only a few low ridges running southwest to northeast, with the woods providing good cover for someone staging an assault. Yes, little cover on the long dash, but that was good, firm ground out there, perfect for driving fast and maneuvering.

Still…doubt, the worst enemy of any commander. He bit his lip nervously. Had he called it wrong? Was his one Crusader light tank on the left about to get hit with the four M4A3E8 Shermans of the American team? Or were their two M18 Hellcats even now sitting inside those woods, waiting for him to make a move? He grimaced at the thought of the Hellcats. Normally they wouldn't be allowed, as they had open air turrets, but last year the World Tankery Federation had ruled that if their turrets were modified to be closed, they could be used. Is that what the yanks were doing? Hiding their Hellcats in those woods, maybe with those damned Pershings providing support? If so, where were their two M24s? Those light tanks were annoyingly fast, though their M6 75mm guns could only 'penetrate' seventy-six millimeters of armor at 457 meters, and that was without any sloping. His scouts might be in trouble if the Chaffees got close.

Heaving an annoyed sigh, he cupped his hands behind his ears, trying to amplify his hearing. Anything at all to detect his opponents. Nothing. Bloody hell! Just as he was about to lower his hands, a breeze came from the north, providing some relief to his sweaty skin. But more importantly, it brought with it the distant sound of tanks engines and the faint squeal of tracks. Almost as if to confirm his hopes, birds started to take off from the woods, starting from the north and moving progressively south. He grinned. Perfect.

He ducked down into the tank. "Jack, get ready to start that engine. Adriana, I think they're coming." And like that, the bored and listless atmosphere was gone. Adriana sat up, hazel eyes sharply focused and face grim as she pulled a bandanna out of one of her pockets, wiping her dusky brow before tying it around her head. Getting salty sweat in the eye while staring through the gun's sights could be the difference between a hit and a miss. Sam looked over his radio one more time, giving George a thumbs up, while Henri grabbed a round from the magazine, ready for the first reload.

George pulled the heavy headset over his ears, satisfied to see his crew doing the same thing. They protected hearing as much as they helped with communication, George reminded himself as he moved the boom mic in front of his mouth. Open channel to his crew members, with a push to talk that would patch him through the radio so that he could talk to the other tanks. It was time. Keying his mic, he waited the half second that guaranteed that his message wouldn't be cut off in the beginning before talking.

"All tracks, all tracks, this is Goose One Actual. Enemy suspected of moving through woods at Action Line One. Goose and Swan tracks, fire after my track fires the first shot. Geese will fire two aimed shots," he ordered, referring to the Comets, "and Swans, fire three rounds suppressive, break." He released the mic, pausing for a moment, knowing that the Cromwells now knew the exact number of rounds they were to fire. "After Goose and Swan tracks fire, we will fall back to Action Line Two, break." Again he paused. "Snake tracks, hold the flanks, move only if you come in danger of being cut off from, but be prepared to strike the flanks or rear of the enemy formation, and keep an eye out for enemy scouts. Break…Elephant and Prime tracks, hold position at Action Line Two, and wait for arrival of Goose and Swan tracks. How copy?"

Once he got the affirmative from the other nine tanks under his command, he took a deep breath. As per the unit SOP, after the first shots were fired, the tanks in contact would start their engines, so he didn't have to relay that over the air. Was there anything that he missed? He didn't think so, but there was ALWAYS something that you missed. That's why hindsight was twenty-twen-

_**Buh-HRAM**_! The sound of a nearby impact was unexpected, and his heart surged into his throat. They were being fired upon?! Two more nearby explosions set the metal around him reverberating, and he braved a quick look around, only his head exposed to the outside air, dust and smoke swirling around him. Three more explosions followed the first three, and he noticed something. Those hadn't been aimed shots! Keying his mic, he had to fight not to shout with excitement. "Hold fire, hold fire, they're trying to provoke a response, see if we're up here!"

Clever of them, he grudgingly admitted. The ridge had more than a dozen large bushes and small thickets along its lip, likely a simulation of the division between farmers' fields, and he had been careful to not place his tanks behind the largest ones. And now the Americans were trying to see if they could goad his tankers into firing prematurely, before they had solid targets. Another three rounds landed along the ridge, nowhere close to the positions of his hidden tanks, and thank God for that! The bushes wouldn't stop a round, and a blindly fired hit was still a hit. The echo of the barrage faded away, and once again, silence ruled. Any moment now. He ducked inside the tank, closing the hatch above him before going to his commander's periscope.

Ah! There! One of the Chaffees, edging out of the forest's edge. It suddenly darted forward about fifty meters, and stopped. "Oh, you cheeky bastard," Adriana's voice sounded in his ear, and he fought the urge to grin. That was pretty daring of them. Send one scout forward, and see if it drew fire. If it did, enemy found. If not…well, the enemy was still here, George thought savagely, his palms starting to sweat as his throat grew dry. But we aren't going to fall for that one.

Evidently satisfied by the lack of a response, the American team surged out of the woods. No little flags waving over any of those steel behemoths, this match was a TKO. Take out all enemies, that was how to win. _Let's see…one, two, three…seven. Where are the last three_? He looked over the tanks again. _Right, the Hellcats and one of the Chaffees are missing_. No matter. He keyed the mic. "Goose One will take the Easy Eight Sherman on the far left, Goose Two, take the one on the far right. Swan One, see if you can't get the Chaffee, and Swan Two, try to hit the second Sherman from the left." Releasing the mic, he gave a good ten count for the other tanks' gunners to acquire their target even as his Comet's turret began to traverse left to right. "Fire when ready, Adriana." The Americans were trying to serpentine, but with seven vehicles moving along the same ground, they had to use a pattern or else risk running into each other, and patterns could be predi-

_**Ba-WANG!**_ The report of his Comet's gun was load, even through the protection of the headset, and its shockwave thumped his chest as the breech surged back, spitting out the spent brass shell casing. The stink of sulfur filled the crew compartment even as the engine roared to life and Henri slammed the next round into the waiting breech. Without waiting to see if the shot had been a kill, Adriana swept the gun around on the next target, the Sherman that had been second to the right. Once more the gun roared out its anger, and almost before the second shell casing had hit the floor, the tank was zooming backwards, and just in time. George watched as the bush he had been hiding behind got struck by multiple rounds.

"Adriana?" he asked, even as he automatically braced himself as Jack swung the tank around and sped towards the next low ridge.

"I think I tracked that first one, he jinked at the last second. The other one was a definite kill."

"Good!" He keyed up the mic. "Report?"

"Swan Two is down."

"Goose Two right beside you, Goose One."

"Swan One is in the clear."

Damn, so he lost one of his Cromwells. No matter. "Elephant and Prime, cleared to fire the moment they present themselves." A good start. A good start indeed.

xxxXXXxxx

"Well, shit." Tiffany Gardner frowned as she surveyed the devastation around her. Two of her Shermans out of the count, and the other tracked. Her own tank had bounced the round that had struck it high in the broad frontal plate. The one Chaffee that she had brought with her to this point was down, as well. That little assault could have gone better. "Hey, Tim, y'all gonna be able to fix that?" she called across to the tracked Sherman, and the tall, broad shouldered boy from Kansas gave a thumbs up, though he sure didn't look happy. She wouldn't be either, tracks were _heavy_! Man, to have lost this many in the first moments of actual fighting. Well, it wasn't over, not yet.

She was used to diversity, anyhow. Being one of the few black kids who went to a rural school in Central New York State had brought her face to face with some pretty nasty situations, and anyone who said that racism didn't exist in the North needed to get their understanding of reality checked. 'Course, it was better than living in South Carolina, where she had spent the first seven years of her life. And now here she was, Captain of the United States Team of Tankery, with a scholarship all lined up for the Citadel, where she expected to learn how to be a Platoon Leader in the United States Army. She certainly hoped to get a slot into Cavalry, so how would a bona fide officer deal with this situation? Spotting the two Pershings pushing up towards the ridge, she keyed her mic. "Hold position, I bet they got most of their team on the next ridge, and they'll blast us to hell the moment we show up."

"So, what are we going to do?" It was her gunner, Jessica Mastrocola. While no rule in the North American leagues stated that only females were allowed into tankery, like the Japanese had, Tiffany preferred having an all-female crew. These girls were her sisters, and God help any Cannuck bastard who tried to mess with them.

She looked around her again. Three tanks down and one out of play for right now. Okay, she had pulled wins during worse situations. Patton advised to attack, attack, attack. The old man had never said anything about _where_ to attack, though. She grinned, teeth flashing in the sunlight. "Well, I say we follow this ridge to the southeast, then head hard east. I bet one of their scouts is hiding out there. We pounce him, take him out, and now the Canadians are blind over a lot of territory." She glanced back at the woods where she had kept her two Hellcats and the last Chaffee. She keyed her throat mic. "Hellcats, take the Chaffee west and find their other scout. I bet they got them hiding out there so that they have a flanking force."

After all, that's what she would do. She looked down at the map unfolded on the top of her Sherman. _I bet he expected me to come in, all hell-bound for glory, guns-a-blazing. Well, time to change his expectations a bit._ If she could get forces to flank those ridges, she had this in the bag. "Tanks, move out!"

xxxXXXxxx

George had expected to come under fire while driving the seven hundred meter stretch between the ridges, so when no such attack came, he was understandably puzzled. All videos that he had been able to find of Miss Gardner's command style showed that she sought the initiative ruthlessly. She pressed advantage whenever she had the chance, so why hadn't she? The Americans had managed to kill a quarter of the tanks that had fired upon them, and they still had their Pershings, and one or two of the Shermans. The 90mm on the Pershing would be a nightmare to face, and the 76mm guns on the Shermans weren't a joke, either. Had she sniffed out his trap? She was playing rather cautiously today. Why? It made him uneasy. Maybe it was because of the numbers. In the United States circuit, he knew that their championship matches could reach up to twenty tanks on a side, just as in Canada the number could reach fifteen against fifteen. But the National Championships were set to ten tanks on a side, so that poorer nations could still have a chance to participate without worrying about being, oh, what was the term, zerg rushed? Having half the starting tanks could make one cautious, he supposed.

So now what was she doing? His scouts were pretty well on the flanks, and hadn't been near the fighting. Maybe it was time to recall them, have them closer to the rest of the team. Nodding to himself, he keyed his mic…

xxxXXXxxx

While Tiffany was a hard charger, there were times when knowing one's role was important, Danny Vasquez knew. He was the commander of the two Hellcats, and with their thin armor, he knew that charging into battle was damn near suicidal. On good ground, he could get his track to go up to 60 mph, but that speed wasn't used to get into battle, but out of it. He was a sniper, with the powerful 76mm Anti-Tank gun as his weapon. During the planning of today's match, he and Tiffany had agreed that he should hang back at first, that once contact had been made he would try to flank, with one of the Chaffees scouting ahead to make sure that he didn't bump into anything _too_ nasty along the way, and then he would start hitting the sides of the enemy with his 76mm. Yeah, the 76mm HE round wasn't too hot, he knew, but they were using the competition equivalent of the High Velocity Armor Piercing rounds, which, while not available in great quantities during WWII, _were_ available in the here and now. And now he was hunting.

He grinned wolfishly as he brushed back black hair and dropped the white cowboy hat on his head. He worked as a ranch hand back home during the summer, and knew that he was the resident 'cowboy,' even though the stereotypical cowboy persona was the opposite of his own cautious demeanor. Still, the cowboy hat gave him personality, and anything that caught the attention of _la hermosa chica_, Tiffany, well, that was fine by him. "Oi, compadres, I bet that little scout is hiding up in the glade," he called down into his Hellcat. The two Hellcats and the Chaffee were well away from the edge of the woods, but still close enough to see relatively well. And the shade was nice. Wasn't as hot as Texas here, but it was still uncomfortable, especially in these uniforms. "Let's just chill here for a minute, see if he does anything, before we send our hound dog after him."

Really, that was just an excuse to give him a moment to think about what to do, how to go about this. The glade that was 900 meters from his position had a good view of any approach that could be made, so trying to get close would be tough. If he could see the target, he knew that Sarah Foote, his gunner, could drop it in a heartbeat. She was a natural on the gun, even at long ranges and using the slower regulation ammo. But if the enemy scout was up there, he was well hidden. Maybe send the Chaffee out, real fast, zig-zag like crazy, and _Madre de Dios_, there the enemy scout was!

The glade was on the north face of the ridge that the Canadians had been hiding on, so for the scout to fall back without leaving the boundaries of the course, he had to silhouette himself. _This is almost too perfect_! Danny crowed to himself as the two Hellcats and the Chaffee all began to track the unsuspecting…what was that, a Crusader? Yeah, it was a Crusader. "Fire when ready," he ordered, and all three vehicles fired within two seconds of each other. The opposing scout never had a chance.

xxxXXXxxx

On the opposite side of the playing field, Jacques Tremblay frowned with worry. He was in a good position, watching the broad ravine that ran north, and he could make out the southwestern tip of the ridge that Action Line One was on top of. To fall back wouldn't be too hard, he just had to drive south and then hook east. But he was in such a good spot! Yes, some small hills prevented him from seeing the woods that the Americans were reported to be in, but the cover and concealment around him was _trés excellent_, and it would be hard for them to hit his agile vehicle if he kept maneuvering. However, maybe Capitaine Danford was right, that it was a good idea to head south and rejoin his _camarades_.

Before he could make a decision, movement caught his eyes, and his mouth ran dry as three American tanks crested the hill closest to him. "_Merde_!" he cursed as he dropped into the tank. "_Capitaine_, there are _trois char_ coming straight for us!" he barked into his radio. "Michel, drive, get us out of here!" Christophe was already swinging the turret around, but his first and only shot was a miss, as his aim was thrown off when the Crusader accelerated hard. The two Pershings and the Sherman that had flushed him from his position did not miss.

xxxXXXxxx

Tiffany frowned in sympathy as her Sherman pulled alongside the burning body of the Crusader. "Hey, are all y'all okay?" she called to the three man crew who were climbing from the wreckage.

"_Oui, oui, assurément_!" one of them called out, waving a hand. "We are fine, though startled!" he continued in thickly accented English. "How did you know where we were?"

Tiffany laughed. "We didn't, you startled us nearly as much as we startled you!"

"Bah, of course! Still, _bonne chance_, the fight is not over yet!"

"Thanks, I'll see you and your crew during the after party!" she shouted as her Sherman began to head south. The Canadian was right, this wasn't over yet.

xxxXXXxxx

The final fight was a brutal one. Gardner, with her Sherman and the two Pershings, swept around the southwestern tail of the ridges, hoping to catch the Canadian team in the rear, while Vasquez went over the ridges at the eastern edge of the playing area. However, Danford had realized the unfavorable position that holding the ridge presented, especially with the loss of his scouts. He had fallen back to his original start point, so that by the time that Gardner and Vasquez reached his position, they weren't flanking as well as they had hoped. Vasquez used the superior speed of his Hellcats and the Chaffee to peak over the top of the ridge, sight quickly, fire off a round, and then fall back, trying to provide his captain with an opportunity to flank around further and put the 76mm gun of her Sherman and the 90mm guns of the Pershings to good use. Vasquez's tactic was successful at first, tracking a Cromwell and knocking out one of the Churchills before the British AT 2s kept their 6-pounder anti-tank guns trained on the ridge, trusting in their hick armor to keep them in the fight long enough to knock out the American tank destroyers.

Vasquez's Hellcat was the first to get hit, six inches to the right of his gun, and the other Hellcat took a glancing round off the top of its turret before another struck the top of its hull, bouncing into the turret below its gun. The Chaffee, realizing the dangerous situation it was in, backed off. Its short barrel 75 wouldn't succeed where the long 76 had failed. This left Gardner to fight the two AT 2s, the two Comets, and the one remaining Churchill with her Pershings and her Sherman. The next few minutes passed by in a blur of harried activity, crews pushed to the limit of aiming, firing, reloading, and driving. The Pershings concentrated their formidable firepower on the heavily armored AT 2s, which were unable to maneuver enough to save them from their fate. The 90mm guns, designed to destroy the King Tiger, 'punched' through the 203mm frontal armor of the AT 2s, taking them out of the fight.

However, the Pershings' attention on the AT 2s gave the two Comets the chance to bring their 17-pounder guns against the Pershings, and at the short range of the final brawl, the guns were more than adequate to defeat the heavily armored tanks, even as Gardner 'killed' the tracked Cromwell and the Churchill. Gardner's Sherman drove as quickly as it could, but a round to the rear sprocket on the left side blew off the track, and it veered wildly, the round that would have knocked out Danford's Comet going wide. A shot to the Sherman's flat side ended the fight, and for a long moment, silence that was tempered with the fading thunder of the exchange reigned. Could it be…had the Canadians won the North American championship? No...there was still the scout tank to go deal with. Danford gave the order, and the two Comets began to rotate, treads eating into the firm clay as the rotates turned to present their guns to the slope.

It was their turning that would be their undoing. The first round caught Danford's tank in the side, just underneath the top of the track, and the tank rocked to the side even as the other Comet took a round to the side of the turret. Desperate commanders peered out of their periscopes, trying to make sense of what was going on. There, on top of the ridge, was the last Chaffee and the Sherman that had been tracked earlier. Tim O'Brien and his crew had repaired the track and had tried to rejoin the battle in enough time to save his commander. Though it was too late to prevent her from being knocked out, he could avenge her. His first shot had taken Danford down, and though the Chaffee's round hadn't penetrated the armor of the other Comet's turret, both the Chaffee and the Sherman fired again before the Comet could aim at either one of them. With a resounding crash, the final Canadian tank was knocked out, the white flag signifying its defeat popping out of its housing. The battle was over.

xxxXXXxxx

The dining facility was loud with boasting and with laughter as both teams celebrated a match well played. For some of the students, this would be their very last match played before they graduated and went on to college or into the work force. For others, it was merely the end of a long, exciting year. At the head table, the twenty tank commanders sat, comparing notes with how they had planned the battle to go, and how things had actually gone.

"Well, y'all know me, Danford," Tiffany said with a grin. "If it weren't fo' the race issue, Ah sweah Ah could be Patton's own great-great-gran-daughtuh," she drawled, exaggerating her accent to play on her Southern childhood.

"Yes, yes, attack, attack, attack. So you didn't have any plan other than find me, fix me, destroy me?" Danford asked, grinning himself. It had been a hard defeat to swallow at first, but the caliber of his opponent lessened to sting somewhat. At least he was only a junior student, he still had one more year to participate in tankery. Miss Gardner was a senior. He wondered who he would be facing next year.

"Well, I figured that I would use the heavier armor and good guns of the Shermans and the Pershings to give you a good licking while my favorite compadre Vasquez turned one of your flanks. Luckily for me, I smelled the trap you were laying out, and didn't take the bait, though I was sorely tempted. If I hadn't lost so many tanks in the beginning, I probably would have, though. Food for thought."

He raised his cup in mock salute. "Indeed. Speaking of, Mr. Vasquez, that was some good shooting in the end. What year are you again?"

"A senior, sir," came the respectful reply from further down the table.

"Ah, so I won't have to worry about facing your dead eye next year, then."

The Latino young man shrugged fluidly. "Not my eye, but my gunner's, and she's just a sophomore. Me? I'll probably be going to some small college. Thinking about heading north, get a degree in teaching history."

"Oh, you aren't going into the military?" Unusual, the American tankery teams were generally composed of military hopefuls.

"Maybe, if the cards fall right, but most likely not. I just joined it because I love history, and a chance to drive a tank as a sport? Sign me up, no?"

"It is rather fun. Shame that this is your last year, though."

Again Vasquez shrugged, only this time it was accompanied by a grin. "Hey, there are still Worlds. We'll cross paths again there, I hope."

"Ah, yes, Worlds. I wonder if Russia is going to win again this year, eh?"

Gardner shook her head. "Nah, I bet that Germany is going to take it. I looked at their records for this year, downright chilling. They've switched from the Panzer IVs that they brought last year to the Panther, and that's a mean tank. If I can hit them first with my Pershings, I might stand a chance, but they'll tear through my Shermans, no doubt."

Nakamura, commander of one of the Pershings, piped up from his spot. "Hey, did anyone else see that they were going to try and invite Japan again?"

That brought a chuckle to the table. Japan, though famous as the nation that first introduced Tankery, or Sensha-dō, and for having some of the most prestigious Academy Ships, was not known for its participation in the World Championship. Previous invitations were generally met with polite but firm declines. Plus, their most famous tankery teams copied other nations, like Germany and Russia.

"What makes anyone think that they're going to accept this year?" Jacques asked.

"I dunno, I think it might happen. Their national champion is an unknown school, can't remember the name off the top of my head. I remember seeing something about their victory on the news."

The professional curiosity of many of the vehicle commanders was now coming into play. "What tanks did they use?" came the quiet question.

Another laugh. "Christ, what _didn't_ they use? Panzer IV, Hetzer, Stug, M3 Lee, the Porsche Tiger, I think I saw a Type 89 Otsu…oh what else…oh yeah, the Renault B1 Bis, and I think they had a Type 3 Chi-Nu."

"A what?"

"Exactly! Apparently, that's the tank that the Japs threw together in preparation to defend the home islands from invasion in 1945. Never saw combat then, and less than two hundred were made, I think."

"And they won?" Gardner asked, tone frankly disbelieving.

"Yeah, I know, right? They took on that Kura…Kuromo…ah hell, the 'Black Forest Academy.' They're the German lovers."

"What did _they_ bring, Panzer IIs?"

Again, there was boisterous laughter from everyone but Nakamura. "No, and that's the crazy thing. This underdog school managed to take out a Maus before they wiped the flag tank out."

"A _Maus_?!" "No way!" "_C'est impossible!_" "Come on, you're jerking our legs!" "What did they do, drop a tank on top of it?"

"No, but the Type 89 drove on top of it." Silence met this statement, and Nakamura shrugged. "Seriously, look it up. If they take the challenge, I bet they'll make it to the finals, especially if the other teams lend them better tanks."

Again, silence reigned, and the twenty commanders went back to eating, thoughtful expressions on their faces. That night, the internet was fairly humming with search requests on the Ōarai Girls High School, its tankery team, and one Miho Nishizumi. After all, as Sun Tzu once said, if you know your enemy and you know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. It was time to gather information…


	2. We've Been Invited!

**AN- Well, this certainly took longer than it should have. Between work, the Army, and me losing my notes multiple times, this chapter was a bit difficult to write. However, it is the first chapter to feature our favorite girl's school. Another reason why this chapter was a bit hard to write was because it's a transitional and expositional chapter...not much happens. However, I still hope that you enjoy, and I'll get to work on that next chapter ASAP!**

**Read, enjoy, and please review!**

CHAPTER TWO

We've been invited!

Miho Nishizumi awoke to the sound of her alarm cheerily going off, and she flung out a drowsy hand to silence the clock. She sighed, sleepily smiling into the quiet that followed. _I am…happy_, she decided as she brought her arms above her head, toes curling with the delight of the long, slow stretch. It wasn't because of the banner that hung in the massive garage full of the school's tanks, and it certainly wasn't because she had beat her sister in Sensha-dō. No, she was happy because of the friends that she had made along the way, her classmates who had toiled alongside her, making memories that would remain with her always. She would not have minded losing, really, except for the fact that losing would mean the closing of the school. In her mind, that was all that winning was…the way that she could continue going to this school, continue making memories with her dear friends.

Now that the National Championship was over, she had nothing hanging over her head, no more worries about pitting undergunned and outnumbered panzers against schools that didn't seem to lack anything. She truly, truly looked forward to a long, uneventful summer spent in Ōarai, hanging out with her friends and being a normal teenaged girl. And really, that's why she transferred to Ōarai in the first place, because she wanted to get away from Sensha-dō and be a normal sixteen year old girl, but she had been denied that. Not that how things turned out was necessarily bad, she admitted as she got dressed, glad for the jeans and tank-top that represented summer. But now she was going to have some fun!

Her phone went off, rattling against the top of her desk, and she snagged it with a smile, fully expecting to see Saori's phone number on the display. She was going to send her the plans for the day, and while 8:33 was a little early for the summer, it wasn't unheard…

Nani? She frowned at the display that flashed Momo-sempai's name and number. After the banquet the night before, she hadn't expected to hear from the soon-to-be graduating Student Council for a few days at least. She flipped her phone open, not entirely certain what to expect from the short-tempered girl. It was a text, short and direct. _Meet in the Student Council Room at 10._

She sent a quick text back to let Momo-sempai know that she was going to be there, and sat down at her desk, brows furrowed in worried thought. Graduation wasn't going to be for more than a week, and the meeting to talk about next year's Sensha-dō program wasn't for a few more days, so it couldn't be that. Maybe it was about who was going to take over the Student Council positions? But no, she had already made it clear that she didn't want any of the positions, so such a discussion wouldn't need to involve her…what was going on?

Her phone vibrated again, and she glanced at it, and then smiled, relieved to see Saori's name. _Breakfast?_ the text asked with a smiley face icon after the question.

'_I would love some,' _she texted back. '_Where do you want to meet?_' She hoped that a relaxing breakfast with her friends should distract her from the impending and mysterious meeting. Just the thing the doctor ordered. Right?

xxxXXXxxx

"-and so, the magazines say that guys like girls who can talk about video games!" Saori exclaimed with a wide grin. "But I don't know the first thing about video games, besides that simulator in the Sensha-dō shop that Yukari is good at. What am I going to do? Pick up video games? I don't have a gaming system, and they're so expensive!"

"Maa, maa," Hana said with a serene smile. "I think that you should refrain from picking up gaming. Remember when you tried to pick up volleyball because guys liked sporty girls?"

Saori shuddered, and one could almost see the gloomy cloud hanging above her head. "Hai, the Duck team was really scary that day!"

"You should continue just being you. If a guy doesn't like you for being you, then he isn't worthy of your attention."

"Mou!" Saori pouted, nibbling at her breakfast. "But nobody has even taken any notice of me! The closest I've come to getting a boyfriend was the day that we met your mother for the first time, when I thought Shinzaborou-san was running towards me." She gave a great, gusty sigh, and turned to Miho. "You've been awfully quiet, Miho, what do you think?"

Miho, who had been staring down at her food with a slightly worried frown, looked up with a startled twitch. "Nani?!"

Saori and Hana glanced at each other with worried frowns. After their victory against Kuromorimine Girls High School and the banquet last night, the last thing they had expected was for Miho to be so withdrawn. Yes, they didn't expect her to become an extrovert, but this behavior reminded them of when they had first met the shy girl. "Miho, are you feeling well?" Hana asked gently.

Miho gave a small, tentative smile. "Aa, I'm feeling alright. I just got this weird text from Momo-sempai earlier, and I can't stop thinking about it."

"What was it about?" Saori asked, puzzled. What could Turtle team want now?

Miho shrugged. "I don't know, I was just told that there was a meeting at ten o'clock that I have to be at."

"Do you want us to go with you?"

This time Miho's smile was much larger. Trust her friends to be so genuinely concerned about her. "No, thank you. I'll be fine on my own." She glanced at her watch. "Thank you for breakfast, we can go shopping after the meeting, 'kay?"

Saori's returning smile was mischievous. "Wanna go shopping for swimsuits?"

After what happened the last time? "Ano…"

Laughing at Miho's slightly panicked face, Saori waved her hand. "I'm just kidding, I'm just kidding, relax. You'd better hurry up before you're late!"

Miho glanced at her watch; Saori was right. "Arigato, Saori, I'll send you a text after the meeting, and we can figure out what we're doing." Reassured by her friends' support, the time spent walking to the Student Council room was less stressful than it could have been, and while certainly not relaxed when she opened the door, she wasn't a nervous wreck.

A chorus of greetings met her, and she blinked in surprise to see the six other tank commanders of the school team and the three girls from the Student Council already in the room. So it _was_ about the Sensha-dō team. From her spot at the head of the table, Anzu gave a wide grin. "Ah, excellent to see you, Miho-san! We've got something important to tell everyone."

Miho gave a slight bow. "Good morning, Anzu-sempai, good morning everyone." Greeting complete, she made her way to the one unoccupied chair in the room and sat down. "So, what's going on?"

Momo-sempai, as stern as always, passed out thick sheaves of paper to everyone. "Last night, after the banquet, Anzu-san received an email from the High School Division of the World Tankery League." She paused by Miho, staring down at her with an unreadable expression. "Evidently, someone was watching our match against Kuromorimine, and were impressed enough to personally invite our school to the World Championship."

Dead silence met her words, the girls in the room looking at each other in disbelief. They had been invited to _Worlds_? "All of the information is in those packets, girls," Anzu said as she bit off a piece of a dried sweet potato. "We deshided that thish ish a team deshishion," she mumbled through the mouthful of her signature snack. As she swallowed, her face took on an uncharacteristically serious expression. "We've already talked with the school board, and if we do go, Momo-san, Yuzu-san, and I will postpone our graduation until after the Championship is concluded. What are everyone's thoughts?"

Erwin leaned back against her chair with a thoughtful frown. "Well, what are the pros and cons of doing this?"

Noriko Isobe, commander of Duck Team, shrugged. "There's always more publicity, which is good for us right now. We've won Nationals, if we even just go to Worlds, that will put our name out on the world stage." She grinned. "Might even convince some people to join the Volleyball Club."

Nekota Hayama, of the Anteater Team, adjusted her swirly glasses. "Don't forget that Japan hasn't taken part of the World High School League in a long time."

"Why not?" Azusa Sawa, commander of the Freshman Team, asked, confused frown on her face.

"Ah, it's because the High School League diverted from some of the original rules of Sensha-dō," Miho said tentatively. She remembered that discussion between her mother and her sister, after Maho won in Germany when Miho was ten. Maho had asked the same question, and, true to her mother's style, the answer had been quick and uncompromising in its finality. If the High School Division of the World Tankery League wanted to deviate from the traditions and rules of Sensha-dō, then there was no need for Japan to take part in the Championship. The subject had never come up again in the household.

"What rules?"

"The American team wanted to modify some of its Tank Destroyers so that they had closed turrets, allowing them to be used. In Japan, this wouldn't be allowed, but the World Tankery League decided to okay it. Some years, offsite artillery has been known to be used, though I don't think that that's going to happen this year. There were some other, smaller changes, but those were the big ones. Oh! I almost forgot, some of the other nations allow boys to participate in Sensha-dō!"

The room erupted into surprised chatter. Boys! In Sensha-dō?! That was unheard of! It was a woman's sport, not a man's sport! After several minutes of trying, Anzu finally got the room to quiet down. "Hai, hai, I know that it's quite the shock! If we did go, we'd have to deal with the other teams doing some things that we're not used to. But the question still stands, do we want to do this?"

Miho frowned, staring at the pamphlet on the table before her with unseeing eyes. For her, it was less a question of feelings and more a question of technical details. If they were going up against the best teams that various other countries had to offer…

"We need better tanks," she murmured quietly, and the room silenced as everyone looked to her, expecting the calm, reliable guidance that she had always offered in the past. She cleared her throat, blushing slightly as she spoke again, louder this time. "If we do this, we need better tanks." She gestured at the packet. "The nations we are going against are wealthy, and their teams have likely been working together for years, and have more experience with each other than we have. Against my sister's school, we used good tactics and improvised well, and we managed to keep the initiative away from them. But the teams we are going up against will likely be reviewing all of our matches, just as we will be reviewing their tactics. And if we are going up against multiple teams that have the same level of tanks as Kuromorimine, then we won't stand a chance."

Silence met her words. After a few minutes of not saying anything, Anzu gave another cheeky grin. "We've been busy making phone calls and sending emails. We are allowed to borrow tanks and crews from other teams, given our unique situation. Additionally, we can afford to get one new tank. We can't go in a completely brand new lineup, but we can be a little more prepared. So, are we going to do this?"

Everyone looked to each other, and Miho saw that there was no hesitation or doubt, merely determination. "This will be the last chance for some of us to take part in Sensha-dō," she said with a warm smile. "I would be honored if we fought one last time together, in Worlds."

"Does everyone agree?" Anzu asked, looking around the table. Seeing only nods, she gave a big thumbs up. "Excellent! Panzer vor!"

xxxXXXxxx

It was quiet inside of the . IV, the girls who had gathered there lost in their own thoughts. Mako was the only one not present, as she was still in Ōarai, visiting her grandmother, and she wouldn't be coming back until early the next day. Yukari had been at her father's barbershop, helping him with his work when she had received the text, and had made her way to the massive garage where the school's tanks rested. Miho, Saori, and Hana were already there when the panzer-obsessed girl arrived, and without any words having to be said, they had mounted their tank. It was an oddly somber silence that reigned inside of the tank, given the sounds of enthusiastic preparation the filtered in from the rest of the garage, where the rest of the Sensha-dō teams were meeting and preparing for the upcoming tournament.

It was Miho who spoke first. "I hope…that my decision hasn't inconvenienced anyone," she murmured hesitantly.

"Maa, maa," Saori replied with a shrug. "It's no problem, I didn't have many plans for the summer, anyway."

Yukari beamed up at Miho from her spot at the loader's station. "Inconvenienced?!" she exclaimed, almost barely able to contain her enthusiasm anymore. "We get to see tanks from all over the world, watch the best High School teams from many different nations! This is a great opportunity!"

The girls laughed, and Miho shook her head. "Panzer, halt," she said with a smile, and they all laughed again, remembering the first time that they had worked together as a crew. Once the chuckling died down, she glanced at her gunner. "Hana?"

"Of course I will go with you," she responded, as serene as ever. "Most of my summer was going to be spent with you and Saori. It doesn't matter if that's on a tank or at the mall, the important thing is that we stick together as a team, right?"

"Right!" the other girls chorused. Saori slipped out of the Radio Operator's seat and moved into the Driver's seat. While none of them were as good as Mako, they all knew the basics.

"Shall we go practice a little?" Saori asked as she started the engine, the Maybach roaring to life.

"Hai!"

It was perhaps a measure of how used to operating tanks they had become that none of them noticed how each of them shifted their weight to match the eager leaping forward of the Panzer IV. The few hours they spent practicing their gunning and tactics with the other tanks of Ōarai were ones well spent, full of smiles and eager anticipation for the upcoming matches.

xxxXXXxxx

"Hai. Arigato gozaimasu, Ishihara-sama. We look forward to working with your company in the future. Hai. Hai. You take care, as well." With a pleased grin, Anzu ended the phone call before laying her cell phone on the desk before her. The call had been to Ren Ishihara, the CEO of a tank restoration company on the mainland. While the other girls had been busy practicing, she, Momo, and Yuzu had been making many, many phone calls to various tank manufacturers and restorers, and they had struck gold with Ishihara-san. "Call the Duck team and Miho-chan in, would you?" she asked Momo, and while her classmate did as she had requested, she checked her email. Anzio had politely declined her request, but St. Gloriana, Pravda, and Saunders had all sent emails back expressing interest, and Kuromorimine hadn't answered yet. The decision as to who they should use would likely go to Miho-chan, but the support from their once-opponents was heartening. Thankfully the League officials had okayed her request, though.

"Anzu-san, Miho and Duck team are here. We managed to catch them just as they were leaving practice."

"Excellent, send them in!" She smiled warmly at the five girls as they entered. "Hey, girls, I've got great news. I was talking with one Ishihara-sama, the CEO of a tank restoration company, and he has a splendid offer for us. He has an incredibly rare Panzer 38 nA on stock, and he's willing to sell it to our school for a very reasonable price."

Noriko frowned. "A Panzer 38…N A? What's that?"

Anzu spun her computer screen around. "It was a tank developed for the Czechoslovakian Army during World War II, based off of the Panzer 38 (t). A better engine, slightly better armor, and a very good top speed. It's much faster than your Type 89, and can reach speeds of around sixty kilometers per hour! Most importantly, it has an anti-tank fifty millimeter gun mounted, so it has a lot more kill power than your Type 89."

Akebi Sasaki, the 89's gunner, winced. "But…we love our tank. It's brought us through so much, and now we have to get rid of it?"

Miho laid a comforting hand on the first year's shoulder. "Gomen, Akebi-chan, but if we hope to do well in the Championship, we need to upgrade our vehicles. With this tank, you will be faster and can cause more damage. I know it's unfortunate, but it's necessary." She looked over to Anzu. "Anzu-sempai, will we need to sell the Type 89?"

"Iie, we won't. Because we're the National Champions, Ishihara-sama is willing to offer us a very good deal. In addition to the good deal, if we make it known where we got the tank from, and publicize his company's generosity and we win the first round, he'll offer a ninety percent discount on top of the good deal. If we win the second round, he'll give us a seventy-five percent discount, and if we win the Championship, he'll give us a fifty percent discount!"

"That's great news!" Taeko Kondou, the radio operator exclaimed.

Noriko gave a sad smile. "It is unfortunate that we won't go to Worlds with our tank, but we will do what is needed for the team's success. When will the tank be here?"

"Tomorrow, before we leave port."

"Alright. Do you need us for anything else?"

"Iie, you girls can go. Miho, if you could stay?"

While the Duck Team crew members left the room, Miho came forward, and at Anzu's prompting, sat down. "What do you need, Anzu-sempai?"

"Maa, maa, we're all friends here, Miho-chan. When it's just us, you don't have to be so formal!" she teased. "Anyway, you know that each team is allowed to bring ten tanks to the Championship, correct?"

"Hai, and there's a limit to how many of each type of tank you can bring. Two heavy tanks, two light tanks, two tank destroyers. The only tank not limited is the medium tank."

"Right. As I said before, I emailed the League committee this morning, and since Ōarai is being invited to the Championship with so little forewarning and because we don't have the money to buy two or three new tanks, we are being given the chance to borrow tanks and crews from other schools. Anzio has declined my request for tanks, but Saunders, Saint Gloriana, and Pravda all are showing their support. Your sister's school hasn't replied yet, however."

Miho blinked, her gaze distant. "So…the other schools are willing to help us?"

"Hai. I think it would be fitting for you to choose which tanks from which teams should join us."

Miho nibbled her bottom lip as she withdrew further into herself, and Anzu smiled and leaned back into her chair. It might take a while for Miho to make a decision, but whatever that decision was, it would be for the best of the team. The silence stretched on and on, until finally Miho nodded to herself. "Nonna-sempai with Pravda's IS-2, and Naomi-san in Saunders' Firefly."

"A heavy and a medium, but the 17 pounder on the Firefly will help us immensely. Good choices, Miho-chan."

Miho smiled shyly as a light blush colored her cheeks. "Arigato, Anzu-semp…Anzu-chan. Also, I will call my sister, and see if I can borrow a Tiger from Kuromorimine, to replace our Porsche Tiger. I am proud of the Automotive club for making the Porsche Tiger work so well, but we need to have a tank that isn't likely to break down in the middle of battle. I don't doubt that my sister is willing to lend the tank, if a Nishizumi is going to be participating at the World Championships."

"Ahh, arigato, Miho-chan. I'm sure that we'll get that tank, and that we'll do excellently at Worlds. The whole school is excited to be going, you should hear the chatter that's been going on!"

"And the Championship is being hosted by the United States this year, isn't it?"

"Aa. It's going to be in Fort Irwin," she said, stumbling over the English name, "which is in a desert."

Miho nodded. "I've never fought in a desert before. We'll need to change the paint schemes and makes sure that the tanks are as prepared for hot weather as is possible."

"Hai, the Automotive club will be working on that immediately. After we leave port tomorrow, it will take approximately a week for us to arrive in California. We'll have plenty of time to get ready."

Miho stood, smiled, and gave a slight bow. "I'm going to go call my sister now. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. I'm glad that we have this one last chance to compete with each other, Anzu-chan."

"Likewise, Miho-chan."

As the younger girl left the room, Anzu began to eat another dried sweet potato, thoughts filled with dreams of victory won in the deserts of America. One thing was for certain, this was going to be fun!


	3. We're In America!

**AN- You know, I hate it when life just gets in the way of things. Been really busy between work and the Army. However, that's no excuse. This chapter should have been written and posted a while ago, and there's no reason for there to be more than a month between postings, especially with the relatively small size of these chapters.**

**I will admit that a small part of it is only having three reviews, but after having some other people start favoriting and following this story, I figured it was time to get off my lazy but and start writing again. My thanks to severstal, who has provided a lot of insight and good advice. Anyone writing in this domain would do well to pay heed to any advice given by severstal. I'd also like to thank AFWS, but as they left a non-signed review, I couldn't answer them directly. Any signed review will be answered by me, whether it's just a quick thanks or a more in depth response to a well structured and thoughtful review.**

**This chapter is kind of an intermediate, bridging chapter. It is important, though, as it introduces a new character, and also shows some of the feelings that the team is experiencing as they get ready for the upcoming matches.**

**As always, read, enjoy, and please review!**

CHAPTER THREE

We're In America!

Miho leaned against the railing of the bow of the school ship, watching as the sparkling city drew steadily closer. Los Angeles, the City of Angels. She listened idly to the excited chatter of all the girls around her, girls who were either on a break between classes or had the day off. It was good to hear how happy they were, a feeling that she couldn't quite match, as much as she wanted to. The journey had been a long one, and the first time in the memory of anyone on board that the ship had crossed the mighty Pacific. They had sailed past Hawaii a few days prior, but hadn't had the time to stop. Shame, as that would have been fun. Still, this wasn't a vacation. The Sensha-dō team had very nearly missed even _seeing_ the Hawaiian islands, they had been so busy training. The new tanks that had been introduced to the team were very powerful, and would help immensely, but…she worriedly bit her lip, thinking of Duck Team. They had accepted their new tank, but anyone could tell that they weren't happy, even if they put on happy smiles at the best, politely wooden ones at the worst. It was something that needed addressing, but there just wasn't enough time! She sighed, hanging her head down. At least Leopon team had taken to their Tiger II readily enough.

Hadn't THAT been a surprise. Further reading of the rules for the World Championship revealed that borrowing tanks was very much frowned upon, even for a new team such as theirs, but selling or trading vehicles was permitted. What had been surprising was how her sister had refused to trade or sell her one of her Tiger Is.

"You are representing Japan and the Nishizumi family," her sister had said during their video chat, voice chill, and Miho had been painfully reminded of how similar Maho and their mother was. But then, Maho smiled gently, and Miho had felt like she was ten again, and her sister was her hero like she had always been. "I am glad that you have discovered your own style, little sister. I am not certain how mother would think of this, but she is not the Captain of this school's Sensha-dō team, _I _am. She is also not the head of this school. Kuromorimine will be more than happy to trade one of our Tiger IIs for your Porsche Tiger. Does this sound good to you?" Of course Miho had instantly agreed. A Tiger II? Oh, what a boon that would be!

The next few minutes had been spent trading small talk in a way the Miho so terribly missed, but all good things had to draw to an end, and they both had many responsibilities still. But before signing off, Maho gave her one last smile. "Oh, and sister…show them the might of Japan and of your style, ne?" How could she not smile sunnily at that, and reply with a confident 'hai'? Where once she was worried that she and her sister would never grow close again, now she was confident that the close relationship that they had shared when they were younger would become real once more. An excited cry roused her from her memories.

"Look, I see them!" one of the other girls shouted, and the dozens who had congregated here began to chatter excitedly. Miho glanced at the pointing Naval Studies student, and then peered out towards the massive harbor that they were steadily approaching. Even as concerned as she was about the coming matches, she couldn't help but smile at the sight of more than a dozen school ships, all of them massive, more than a few of them dwarfing even their ship. They were still far enough away that their flags…or was it an ensign?...couldn't be seen, at least not without a telescope, so it was hard to tell which ship belonged to which nation, but it was exciting nonetheless to see them.

"Why aren't they inside of the harbor?" another girl asked from farther back, and the Naval Studies student who had first shouted began to launch into an explanation about how the ships were too big to comfortably maneuver, especially with all of the other ships going in and out. For massive gatherings such as this, school ships often anchored a few nautical miles away from the port, making sure that they weren't in any shipping lanes. Then, harbor ships would ferry equipment, food, fuel, and vehicles to and from the shore and the school ships. Miho smiled at the excitement in the girl's voice as she began to get into more and more technical details, reminding her of Yukari and her passion for panzers.

Speaking of panzers…her cell phone vibrated, and she brushed her hair out of her face as she checked the text message. They were prepping the tanks for shipping. She glanced once more at the approaching city. Well, time to stop sight-seeing and get back to work, then.

xxxXXXxxx

"Okay, keep going, keep going, keep going…wait, stop!"

Shinobu Kawanishi hit the brakes as quickly as she could, but the tank still struck the bulkhead of the ferrying ship sent by the harbor to pick up the Ōarai tanks, jolting everyone who was inside of it.

"Hey, be careful!" Akebi Sasaki snapped from the gunner's seat as she rubbed the back of her head, wincing slightly.

"Well, I'm trying, alright?! This thing drives completely differently than our Type 89!" she snarled back as Noriko, who had been acting as the ground guide, ran up to them.

"Is everyone okay?"

Taeko Kondou spoke up from her spot behind the tank's radio equipment. "Yeah, no one was hurt…took harder hits in our real tank, right girls?"

Noriko groaned at the chorus of agreement as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, girls, I know that we're not happy with how things turned out, but this _is_ our 'real tank' now!" she said, with more venom than she meant to, but she was getting so sick of hearing the same thing over and over again! "The school went through a lot of trouble to get us this tank, remember? And Miho-san is right, our Type 89 was outclassed in nationals, there's no way that we could bring her to the World Championship!"

The silence was stifling as the other girls looked anywhere other than their commander. Finally, Shinobu spoke up. "But she was still _our_ _tank_, Noriko. We used her to help kill a Maus! Yes, this stupid, new tank is 'better,' but it's not our tank. This vehicle? It's just a machine that none of us like. For all the Type 89's faults, we loved her."

Noriko sighed as she ran her hand through her short brown hair. "Look, I know that…I miss our old tank, too, but what else was I supposed to do? Say no to our sempais, to our team captain? I couldn't do that, especially when they are right, as much as we all hate that they are. Look, I know it sucks, but we need to deal with it and learn how to run this tank as quickly as possible."

A chorus of dispirited "hai's" answered her, and she grimaced. Their collective unfamiliarity with the Panzer 38 nA was only part of the problem…losing their old tank had _hurt_, and in a way that wasn't really surprising. They had been through a lot with her, and for her to get taken away without any real warning…it was killing their motivation and their morale in a big way. Losing the Type 89 felt too much like the volleyball club being shut down.

That line of thought was cut short as the load master of the ferry jogged up, and angry look on his face. "Oi, if you're done trying to bang holes in the side of my boat, then you can shut your tank off and get out of the cargo area!" he snapped in thickly and barely understandable Japanese. "I've still got a bunch of other stuff to get in here, and not much time to do it, so scram!"

The team scrambled to do as he had ordered, not wanting to either make him angrier by doing something wrong or by sticking around longer than was absolutely necessary. After making sure that the 38 nA was exactly where it was supposed to be and that the tread chocks were in place, they went up and up the narrow flights of stairs until they were on the deck.

The wind was brisk as it headed inland, ruffling their school uniforms and hair, and the bright sun was warm on their faces. The volleyball team stuck together as they headed forward, towards the bow, trading greetings with the other teams. Even as she smiled and waved and made small talk, Noriko wondered how the other girls couldn't see that she and her crew weren't happy, that something was bothering them. Why didn't anyone ask if they were okay, ask why their smiles were so obviously wooden? Or did they see, and they were just too polite to ask? At least it wasn't possible that the other girls could see their discontentment and simply didn't care…they all had been through too much together for that to be a possibility.

And if the others didn't care, then why would Koyama-sempai give them a softly apologetic and sympathetic smile, why would Miho-san look so nervous and sorry when the four of them passed her and the Panzer IV's crew? They knew, and felt bad for the choices that were necessary for the team. At least they seemed sorry for what they had done.

The four of them were silent when they got as far forward as they could. There was nothing to say, and nothing to do, really, except wait for the ferry to get underway. The view of the city before them was dazzling, and beautiful, but also static, and it got boring fairly quickly. Yes, there were other ships steaming past them, either heading to or from the massive port, but they, too, got uniformly boring after a while. How many tankers or big cargo ships could one realistically look at before they lost their allure? The other school ships had captured their attention for a little while, as well, but aside from looking at the flags being flown from them and trying to remember which flag went to which country, and occasionally waving back to the ant-sized figures that could barely be seen on the top of the other ships' decks, they provided little other interest.

Finally, after a small eternity, their melancholy was broken as the deck beneath their feet began to vibrate more and more as the sound of the ship's engine grew louder and louder. The ship started to ease forward slowly before steadily gaining speed, and soon enough it was steaming forward at a decent clip, its long white wake cutting through the dark blue water. Soon enough, they would make port, and their adventure would really begin!

xxxXXXxxx

…Or so they thought. "Yare, yare," Saori muttered as she stretched her arms over her head. Once they had made port, they had had to be processed through Customs, and it had taken a while. Granted, not as long as it could have been, since they went through a custom station set up for the incoming Sensha-dō teams, but there had still been plenty of other students from other schools ahead of them, and there had been a lot of waiting. But finally they had made it through, only to be escorted to another waiting area, where buses would arrive to take them to the fort where they were going to be competing. So much waiting!

She glanced briefly around the large conference style room that they had been told to stay at. Some friendly-faced guards at the entrances made her wonder if Americans always greeted foreigners this way…yes, we have friendly faces, but don't leave this building, or else! There were maybe a hundred other students in here, plus some older looking people…coaches? Trainers? Chaperones? She couldn't tell, at least not yet. The wide array of people here was exhilarating, though! Dark skinned, light skinned, round eyes, almond shaped eyes, straight hair, wavy hair…yes, plenty of her school mates had lighter colored hair…after all, just look at Naomi-sempai! But she was still Japanese, and was used to seeing Japanese people. This? This was just really cool! It was also interesting to see that even the clothing was different…as well it should be, of course, but some of the other kids were dressed in street clothes, others in school uniforms or Sensha-dō uniforms, and still others were dressed in what looked to be too military to be Sensha-dō uniforms…not like her and her Ōarai students; their uniforms were obviously based off of their school uniforms, only with an added military flair.

And, oh, look at all the cute boys! Her mood brightened, but then dampened as she remembered that not only were they going to be opponents vying for the same championship, but who would want to start a long distance relationship with a girl like her? The only people to seem like they wanted to hang out with her were her friends from the Panzer IV and…

As though on cue, Rabbit team flocked around her, chattering excitedly, all of them clutching the bag that they had received from the Sensha-dō welcoming committee to their chests as they looked around with bright eyes. She smiled at them, the almost exasperated amusement that was the normal reaction to their flocking warm in her chest. As much as she would like to get a boyfriend, the fact that they chose her to look up to would always be something that she would remember with a fond heart.

Her good mood dissipated as she noticed a group of students dressed in purely military uniforms. Normally she'd ignore them, but the young man in the cowboy hat sitting on the table had just gestured at her and the freshmen team and said something that made his buddies around him laugh. Oh, so he thought he could just insult them, did he?!

Full of righteous fury, she stomped over to the group. "Excuse me!" she snapped, "but I don't think that it's very polite to make fun of people that you've never met!"

The cowboy looked taken aback and raised his hands disarmingly, and said something else, much to the uproarious amusement of his peers. "Oh, so you don't want to speak a language I can understand! How very polite of you, Kaubōi-san!" she snapped, as sarcastically as she could.

Now he only looked confused, and his eyes flitted to her ears before widening in surprise. Hopping to his feet, he bowed apologetically. "My apologies, miss, I hadn't realized that you didn't have your translators in yet," he said in fluent, if not oddly accented and slowly delivered, Japanese.

"Eh?! Translators?"

"Hai, the earpieces in your bags, they're compact computers that can translate from most major languages to the language of the user…they didn't tell you about those yet?" he explained slowly, carefully, though she got the feeling that he did so because he was searching for the right words, not because he though she couldn't understand him.

Flushing, she began to fish the earpiece, that looked a lot like a hearing aid, now that she thought about it, and inserted it into her ear even as one of the cowboy's friends began to scold him. There was a click, and a hiss, and then a cool, generic, and slightly tinny male voice began to speak in her ear. "-you idiot, or did you forget that they explained that on the bus? You just remember from last year."

She frowned, disoriented. The earpiece's voice sounded nothing like the boy speaking, and it was bland and monotonous, even though the boy was speaking with some exuberance. Additionally, there was a half-second lag between what was said and what was translated. "Ano…" she started, and paused, unsure of how to continue.

Seeing that she had her earpiece in, the cowboy looked relieved. "Oh, good, you've got it in." Again that sense of confusion as she simultaneously tried to listen to him and to the voice in her ear that she noticed didn't change between the two boys…did it only have one voice? And that lag was going to drive her mad, she knew it! "Right, so, these things are useful, but somewhat limited. Ah, don't try to listen to me, listen to the earpiece…it takes some getting used to, but you'll get the hang of it," he reassured her, and sure enough, she was learning, slowly but surely. "So, these earpieces are useful, as I was saying, but they don't handle slang or regional dialects very well, so for some people, you aren't going to understand a word they say, earpiece or no, you follow?"

She nodded, trying hard to keep her feeling of annoyance despite how earnest this boy seemed to be in his attempts to help her…did she say boy? No, he was a young man, tall, broad shouldered, and though he was certainly Gaijin, he wasn't bad looking for it…rather the opposite in fact. Mmm, nicely tanned, cute hazel eyes, even white teeth…oh, wait, he was still talking! "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said that I'm sorry about talking about you and that group of younger girls back there, I was just telling my mates that you were cute, almost like a mother hen leading her chicks around, or a wolf with her cubs, very motherly and affectionate."

Well, if _that_ didn't make her blush right to the roots of her hair, she didn't know what else would! A cute boy just called _her_ cute! Not Hana, not Miho, but her! She stuttered, not sure how to proceed with these new developments when her friends appeared at her elbow. "Saori, the gentleman acting as our guide said that the bus will be here soon," Hana said, and for a wild moment, Saori wished that she wasn't so elegant and graceful, like she always was. _Go away!_ her mind practically wailed. _Go away before he decides to call _you_ cute and motherly!_

"Eto…" she stammered. "I was just talking with Kaubōi-san here, and…"

"Whoa!" the young man said, holding his hands up with a laugh. "I had wondered if that's what you called me. I'm not a cowboy, or a Kaubōi, as they're called in Japan. No, I'm Australian, and this," he took off the cowboy hat that wasn't, revealing short and neat sandy blond hair, "is my slouch hat. You can tell by the puggaree," he explained, finger tapping the band around the crown. He carefully put the hat back on. "This hat is an important symbol of Australia and of the Australian Army. One of my ancestors wore a slouch hat like this one during the Great War, he did."

Saori rolled her eyes and popped her hip to the side, but softened the gesture with a smile. "Okay, if I can't call you Kaubōi-san, then what do I call you?"

"M'name is Dave Blake, miss, and it's a pleasure to meet you," he grinned, eyes twinkling. "And what's your name?"

"Watashi no namae wa Takebe Saori desu," she replied with a bow. "It is very nice to meet you."

Before either of them could say anything else, the doors opened up, and a handful of adults came in, a mixture of men and women in uniform and in suits. With a wry grin, Dave turned towards the five of them. "Well, it looks like our ride is here." He tapped the brim of his hat. "Ladies, it was an honor." He turned back towards the table that his friends were still seated at. "Lads, let's get ready to go."

Likewise, the five of them returned to where their fellow Ōarai students had been staying. "He seemed nice, though I admit that I am quite confused," Hana said as she gathered up her backpack.

"Nani?"

"Me too," Miho added. "Why did he speak English while you were speaking Japanese, and since when did you know enough English to understand it that well? I only understood about a quarter of what he said."

"I only got about half of what he was saying," Yukari piped up, "and that was largely when he was talking about his slouch hat…I did a little reading on it while studying the Great War."

"Ah, that's easy to explain!" While they gathered up their things and Saori explained the earpieces (thankfully they had been programmed for their nation already, or else she would have been hopelessly lost!) to the rest of her schoolmates, her thoughts drifted towards Blake-san. He said he was Australian, so that wasn't too far from Japan, right? Meh. It's not like he'd be interested in her…he simply must have been polite and friendly. _Like a mother hen and her chicks…probably says that to all of the girls_, she thought as she boarded on of the buses that were waiting outside of the building. Probably wouldn't even talk to him again, sadly enough. Then she grinned to herself, thinking about when he had turned around after saying his farewell. _Pity. He had a really cute butt._


	4. Rules and Regulations!

**AN: Alright, it didn't take as long to get this chapter out! Yay! Unfortunately, it's a lot of exposition and it's another transition chapter. Darn it! However, this should be the last of the expositional chapters, and we'll start to see some practice in the next chapter.**

**I had fun writing this chapter, as we get to see a bit from Dave Blake's POV, and writing Australian is fun. I did use slang that's common to the Land Down Under, and if you don't understand what's being said, I highly recommend you look it up, because some of the Australian slang is quite amusing. And yes, a little bit of it is inappropriate and raunchy, but what group of high schoolers aren't?**

**Now, I've received a lot of reviews talking about the timeline I'm using for this story. I am sticking with my original idea that the tournament occurs in mid to late spring, most likely in late April. Now, I actually have a reason for that. Going by the anime, I believe that the match against Black Forest Academy took place in the spring. My understanding of the National Tournament is that all matches happened on Japan. So, the match against Pravda happened during the winter. Thus, the St. Gloriana match happened after the start of the school year, probably during late April, early May. The match against Saunders most likely happened late during the first term, around July. Anzio was fought in September or October, Pravda in December or January, and Kuromoromine was fought in March. This is my interpretation, and is the one being used in this story.**

**So, all the third year students are delaying their graduation by a little bit, but many universities in Japan accept enrollments in September or October to help students with different semester schedules. All other students do have to complete school work while at the tournament, this will be seen later on. Now, let's think about what this means for the competitors. Tankery appears to be a year long sport, rather than a seasonal one. There are two months or so between matches, allowing for tanks to be rebuilt and upgraded, and for teams to practice new tactics and such. The World Championship throws this timeline out the window, having many, many matches over the course of a month. Multiple matches (US versus UK in morning, Germany versus China at noon, etc, etc) in one day are a necessity, and team repair crews are actively assisted by military personnel to repair damaged vehicles as quickly as possible. Crews are put under a lot of stress to keep in competition form, and that merely aids in the idea that only the best teams win. It's an environment that a new team like Oarai will have difficulty working in, something to look forward to.**

**Anyway, enough blabbering on. Read, enjoy, and please review!**

CHAPTER FOUR

Rules and Regulations!

Dave Blake tossed his suitcase into the cargo hold of the coach bus and straightened, squinting slightly in the bright sunshine as he looked towards the bus dedicated for the Japanese team. Yep, there she was, Miss Takebe. He grinned softly to himself as she boarded her bus, talking animatedly with her friends. Now, he wasn't quite foolish enough to believe in bollocks like love at first sight, but the girl definitely caught his interest. It took guts to be in this sport, as well as to confront a slight against her and her friends, as imagined as that slight ended up being. Hopefully they'd get the chance to talk more. Honestly, his previous experiences with lasses had been rather…disheartening, to say the least. However, he'd be happy to even just get a pen pal, especially one as cute as Miss Takebe. It would be nice to have someone to actually practice his Japanese with. Yeah, he was fluent, and no doubt about that, but he didn't really have all that many chances to really speak it with someone else who knew the language.

Eh. Such was life. He boarded the bus, glad for the AC that was already running. Wasn't as bad as some of the deserts on Australia, but it certainly wasn't chill out there! He looked forward to competing in the Mojave Desert, though. Too bad they weren't going to be in Death Valley. Could you imagine that? Yeah, I've bloody driven a tank across Death Valley, what've _you_ done with your life, mate? Pfft, bloody wanker!

He flopped down into his seat, and his tank's crew surrounded him. Jarrah, the gunner, said that his good shot was due to his aboriginal heritage…came from a long line of outback hunters, he did. Dave wasn't sure if it was his heritage that gave him the good skills or something else, but whatever it was, he didn't care, the quiet boy was welcome at his side any day. Pity that sentiment wasn't universal, racist pricks…

Bruce, the driver. Great sense of humor, was always going on about Monty Python, despite how ancient that series was. Always good for a laugh. Dana, the loader and radio operator, cunning as a dunny rat, and dux besides…she was at the top of her freshman class, last he heard. A farmer's daughter, she was built like a brick shithouse, no lie, and being the loader certainly helped with that. Unfortunately, for all her brains and brawn, she was a bit of a dog, that is, an unattractive girl. Not ugly, per se, but her homely looks and her participation in this sport didn't get her in with the popular crowd, but he and the crew stood by her. They were true mates. And like all good mates, they teased each other mercilessly.

Jarrah nudged him. "Of all of the animals in the world, you had to choose a hen and her chicks?" he laughed, musical accent more pronounced in his mirth.

"Oh, aye, he's a right romantic bastard, didn't you know?" Dana replied with a twinkle in her eye.

"Oi, don't knock him," Bruce stepped in, but Dave was in no way grateful becauuuse… "Don't forget, his love life is as dry as a Nun's nasty, he doesn't know any better." And there we go.

"Right, right, piss off, you bloody wankers!" he snapped, though he knew that the rest of them could see his poorly veiled amusement at their jabs. Rough love was still love, and there weren't many places as rough as the Outback, where just about everything tried to kill you. He'd be concerned if they WEREN'T poking fun at him. "You know, you'd think that you'd be nicer, being my mates and all, but I suppose that that's all bollocks, aye?"

Then a new voice called out from towards the front of the bus, and all good things about the world just flew out the window. Percival Townsley, the ANZAC Team Captain, a young man that Dave utterly loathed with almost every fiber of his being. "Can't say I'm surprised that you were trying to suck up to one of those Jap girls, Mister Blake, but do try to keep fraternizing to a minimum. I don't want to tarnish the good reputation of my school nor of this team, understood?"

Dave grit his teeth. "Can't say that you're surprised? The hell is that supposed to mean?!"

Funny how Townsley made looking down his nose a bloody art form. Granted, said 'art form' made Dave want to grind Townsley's stupid face under his Comet's treads, but one had to admit that it was special how badly pissed off Townsley could make people just by _looking_ at them. "I've heard enough about you from some of the more respectable members of your school to know where your interests and sympathies lie." His eyes flicked meaningfully towards Jarrah, and suddenly Dave was aware of his crew pulling him back into his seat. See? What mates they were, to keep him from breaking this prick's face and then likely getting expelled from the program at the least and school at the most. They really did care!

"You bloody brown-eyed mullet!" he snarled under his breath, and his crew snickered as they let him go, confident that he had calmed down. Bloody fuck, to look at Jarrah like that, to insinuate with the all-mighty, superior tone that Miss Takebe was somehow inferior.

"What was that?" Townsley asked, voice sharp.

"I said that our free time in between and after matches is our own, _sir_," he snapped, loading as much disdain as he could muster into the honorific. "That's specifically in the tournament rules, as these competitions are to promote brotherhood and sisterhood amongst the high schools of the world, so I can respectfully tell you what to do with that order, but I don't think you'd like it if I did…_sir_."

Townsley sneered, and looked like he was going to say something in return, but a young US Army officer hopped on board the bus. Ah, so the briefing was to begin. Excellent, it would distract Dave from the urge to beat Townsley to a pulp…

xxxXXXxxx

It was hot. And while Miho knew that she had experienced warmer days in Japan, the heat there was much more humid, and while in cities there were shops and people to distract one from the heat, and while in the countryside, there was plenty of trees and bushes to give the illusion of coolness. As she got off the bus and looked around, she realized for the first time just how _open_ it was out here. There were mountains in the distance, yes, but they only added to the sense of desolate vastness. A hot wind blew, and she shielded her eyes from the dust that was kicked up. The uniformity of all the buildings didn't help, and she knew that she'd be thoroughly lost if she went anywhere without a guide. However, that didn't seem like it would be an issue.

The Army officer who had been assigned to their school was a coolly confident young woman of Korean heritage, who had explained that she was fluent in multiple languages, including Japanese. She had been quite brisk when explaining the rules, such as no photography unless they were told otherwise, as they were on a military installation. This wasn't to say that they wouldn't be allowed to take pictures, just that there were some parts of the base that shouldn't be photographed without express permission. Another obvious rule was that they weren't to leave the buildings reserved for the competition without a guide. Captain Kim had made it clear that this was more for their safety than for anything else, and she had gone on to clarify that they weren't in danger, per se, but if they went wandering around the base, then there were increased risks of being struck by vehicles or even of being arrested.

All in all, while Captain Kim had been perfectly polite and even friendly, the atmosphere of the installation was unmistakable: do exactly as we tell you, or you might get hurt. This ambiance was reinforced by the sight of soldiers running in formation and military vehicles driving around. Of course Yukari had been overly excited by the sight of armored vehicles driving around, and of the large parking lots filled with military vehicles, but the rest of them had been slightly uneasy by the vibe given.

"Okay, girls, gather around!" Captain Kim called out, and they herded in as they glanced nervously about. "Is that everyone? Good! Alright, there's going to be an official tour of the area in a few minutes, but I'm sure you noticed the military vehicles and soldiers that we passed getting to this point. The chances of you running into them again is actually minimal, unless you leave this area. The barracks buildings behind me," she said as she gestured to a handful of brick buildings, "have been set aside for the students and staff of the competition. Each team will have a floor, with a few minor exceptions. Rooms have already been assigned, with two individuals to a room. Rooms will not be coed, and with a few exceptions, the male and female portions of the teams have been separated.

"I would like to emphasize that since none of you are in the military, we aren't allowed to dictate visitation between males and females, but your schools have their own rules. If you break them, then you can expect to be reprimanded, but that's up to your individual schools. Additionally, everyone signed the paperwork from the bus, right?" They all nodded, remembering the sheaf of papers handed to each student. Rules of the fort, plus disclaimers that the US Military, US Government, and Fort Irwin were not to be held liable for damages to personal property, and that injuries sustained during the matches would not be the fault of the above organizations so long as the safety regulations were reviewed and posted, and much more legalize. While they had carefully read the paperwork, Captain Kim had summed it up. Unless the incident (injury, damage to personal belongings, theft of property, etc, etc) was caused by a member of the US Army, by an employee of the Government, or by military equipment, they couldn't be held accountable. It was reasonable, they supposed as they signed the paperwork. If a student punched someone from another school, Fort Irwin shouldn't be held accountable.

"Now, I'm certain that you've noticed that this place is kinda boring and dreary, right?" Captain Kim went on with a smile. "Well, I'm here to reassure you that there's actually a lot to do. There is a movie theater, a mall, a swimming pool, a bowling alley, a few gyms, and a baseball diamond nearby. The gyms and the baseball diamond are within walking distance, and everything else has a bus running to it. Just remember, you'll need an escort before going anywhere. However, each of these buildings has a day room, which has couches, a television, a gaming system, a few computers, a pool table, and plenty of board games."

A whistle split through the air, and they all looked over to see a soldier waving his arm above his head. "Excellent, it looks like the barracks are open right now. Follow me."

They trooped along, and soon they entered the closest barracks and went up the stairs to the third floor. "Okay, so, this is your floor. Each room is unlocked right now, and each bed has a door key on it. I advise you to lock your doors whenever there isn't someone inside of them. There are washers and dryers in the basement. Any questions? No? Okay then, let's go look at those rooms!"

On and on it went. Captain Kim showed them their rooms, then they went to the cafeteria, or Deefack, as Captain Kim called it, though the girls from Ōarai couldn't think of why she did. The cafeteria would serve all of the students, and while each meal would have the staples such as salads and sandwich makings, the cooks would be preparing foods for each team on a rotational basis, so that everyone could get a taste of what was the normal food of each culture. However, if the students didn't want to eat at the cafeteria, they could choose to go to the mall and eat there. However, to do that, they would have to pay, whereas the food at the cafeteria was free for students. When asked about money conversion, they were reassured that the registers at any place where they would be shopping would take most major brands of credit or debit cards. However, there was also a bank on base that did money conversion, and they could plan a trip out that way.

It was reassuring to find out that the whole 'need an escort' situation wasn't as bad as it sounded. As Captain Kim went on to explain what the escort actually was, it started to become clear that the escort was less of a guard and more of a chaperone. Captain Kim and two other soldiers would serve Ōarai, just as every school had an officer and two enlisted personnel assigned as guides and chaperones. They were there less to restrict what the students did and more to make sure that no one was lost, left behind, or forgotten. When there weren't matches, students could request to go to any of the cleared areas, and the chaperone would take them. And once at their destination, they didn't have to stay in a group, they just had to meet back at the rendezvous point at the agreed upon time. They met the other two soldiers assigned to them, and they were both friendly and could speak decent Japanese, enough to convey what was needed, and their translators would help cover anything that their guides couldn't say in Japanese.

By the end of the day, they were tired, but more excited and hopeful than they had been when they had first entered the military base. Yes, there were restrictions, but they understood the need for them. It was like their ship, if students went into dangerous areas that the Naval Studies girls had to be specifically trained for before going there, then they could get hurt…same as this base. In spite of all the rules and regulations (which were posted throughout their billeting area and in all the languages being spoken here) it was clear that the installation was doing its best to be accommodating of their guests, rather than not giving a darn. Still, despite this accommodation, the food at the cafeteria really wasn't that good. Maybe eating at the mall would be a good idea after all.

There was some ruckus that night as the girls went about talking about the day and everything that had happened, as well as some tentative forays onto the floor above them and below them. Forays that were short-lived as they realized that the Chinese team above them and the South Korean team below them were more interested in sleep, and what's more besides, they had very strict looking chaperones that found the appearance of inquisitive Japanese girls annoying. Before long, however, tiredness ruled over all, and the girls went to bed, wondering what the next day would bring.

xxxXXXxxx

For Miho, the next day brought boredom and aggravation. She had to wake up early, catch a lonely meal at the cafeteria (how CAN Americans eat such fatty foods right in the morning?!) before heading to the 'headquarters' building, where there were classrooms galore. Normally cautiously optimistic, she was actually surprised to find herself in a sour mood as she found her seat. Because she was going to be in this mandatory briefing for the school commanders, she would miss going bowling with her friends. The poor breakfast hadn't helped matters, and as more and more of the other team captains found their way into the room, she found her mood worsening. As fascinating as the translators had first been, she was beginning to feel that they weren't nearly as awesome as she had first thought.

It wasn't any one thing, either. The slight lag was confusing, and the fact that there was only a female voice and male voice was annoying. She had also discovered yesterday that the computer chip that ran the device, though probably amazingly complex, wasn't complex enough. More than once someone had talked to her in the appropriate manner, that is, slowly and clearly, but the translation that she got in return was very short, and was extremely basic. Understandable, but one had to wonder what was being lost in the translation. How did Yukari describe it? Ah, yes. It was like trying to draw the blueprints of their tank with an etch-a-sketch. You could see, or hear as the case may be, what the person was trying to get across, but it was stilted, basic, and not entirely accurate by the time that it was translated. It was very quickly obvious that the translator was not a final solution, but instead a technology developed to aid in the translation process, not be the only part of it.

With Captain Kim and the other two soldiers, it had worked wonderfully. They could supplant their Japanese with English words, and the translator would give her the Japanese word that they couldn't remember. They were also familiar enough with the technology that they would pause long enough after they said the English word that the translator could do its thing. Now? Now the translator was a nuisance. English was by far the dominant language amongst the schools, and some of the commanders were familiar enough with one another to start chattering. Unfortunately, because no one was talking to her and providing a louder source of audio, the device began to translate fragments of all of the other conversations. She winced and rubbed her temple as the darn thing began to doggedly broadcast broken sentences and mismatched words.

It wasn't long before she grew tired of it all and turned the earpiece off. The person from the World Tankery League wasn't here yet, so she might as well let her ear rest and stop frazzling her brain. She sighed with relief as the background chatter became just that: background chatter that she didn't understand. Oh, sure, she knew some English, but only the very basics, like 'my name is' and 'where is the bathroom' or 'I am lost, please help.' Beyond that, she was lost. She hummed contentedly to herself as she picked up the binder that had been printed in Japanese. Ah, the rules and regulations for this year's tournament. This had been sent to everyone's emails a week ago, but she had only really just skimmed through it. But now, she had a chance to give it more attention. Excellent.

She soon lost herself in reading the thick binder. It was mostly dry writing, but it was good information. As engrossed as she was in trying to understand the rules, she didn't notice when the room grew quiet and then a single voice began speaking. More importantly, she didn't notice when that voice paused in the lecture and then asked a question…and asked it again, and again, but with more force. However, she DID notice when the team captain next to her nudged her, and she started, looking at her with wide eyes. Ah, yes, the black girl from America. What did she…?

The girl tapped her ear meaningfully and flicked her eyes to the front of the room, where a rather irate man was staring. Right. At. Her.

Oh. Oh no! Fumbling, she switched the earpiece on, and the man began to speak slowly and clearly. Though the voice in her ear was cool and unemotional, the man's actual voice sounded quite cross. "I am glad for you to join us, Miss Japan," the translator told her. "Now if you would like to stop wasting time, we are going over the rules."

Flushing terribly and trembling with embarrassment, she rose and bowed, stammering out flustered words of apology. When she straightened, she noticed that most of the others in the room were looking at her with confusion, and those few that weren't, China and South Korea in particular, looked sympathetically uncomfortable. Oh, that's right, Americans don't bow, like, ever. _Oh, please just let the earth swallow me whole!_ she pleaded as she sank into her seat, completely mortified. But no earth spirits answered her, and after a sharp glare, the man in front of the room continued.

The next few hours of classroom lecture was agonizing, to say the least. At first it was only because of the annoyance of Mr. Greene, the head of the Safety Committee, but as time wore on, she began to get the feeling that some of the other captains didn't like her. This was most distressing. Had she done something other than embarrass herself to earn the dislike of her fellow peers? She didn't think so…and yesterday there hadn't been any sense of animosity. Maybe it was just her imagination. She decided that the best, and really the only thing, to do was to ignore the vibe and to pay attention to Mr. Greene.

"All riders in a tank must wear eye protection. This is mandatory. Anyone not wearing eye protection will pulled from the match," Mr. Greene was saying. "There have been incidents in the past where competitors were blinded. This is preventable. We also highly suggest using ear protection paired up with your radio systems. Studies have shown that hearing loss has occurred during these matches, but ear protection is not mandatory. Anyone outside of their tank will wear body armor. While inside the tank, they don't need to wear it, but it is mandatory to have accessible."

At this Miho perked up, thinking about all the times she'd been outside of her tank. She raised her hand, and though Mr. Greene looked annoyed at the interruption, he still gestured to her. "Does this include when your torso is outside of the turret ring?" she asked.

"Any time you have a part of your body exposed out of the tank, you should be wearing armor."

"Why?"

Mr. Greene sighed heavily. "This is your school's first time participating in this competition, yes?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"The rules are a different than in Japan's high school league, here. You were sent the rules before you came here, yes? Good. How much did you read?" Everyone was looking at her now, and she shifted with the discomfort of being the center of attention. It was almost painful to admit that she hadn't read much of it. Mr. Greene sighed at her words. "I want you to read the binder tonight, and ask me any questions tomorrow when we tour the various arenas. But for now, we'll keep it simple. There have been accidents where students were struck with shrapnel thrown by the tank shells before, and while there were not any fatalities, some of the injuries were severe. Also, the body armor helps negate the impact from the machine gun rounds. Now, going on-"

She couldn't help herself. "Machine gun rounds?!"

Mr. Greene frowned. "Yes, machine gun rounds. Smaller bullets than the rounds of your tank's main gun. I have seen videos of your competitions, you do use machine guns, correct?"

She hesitated. "Well, yes, but we used them to distract tank crews, not actually shoot at students…isn't that deadly?" Her sense of being foolish increased as the rest of the students snickered and Mr. Greene frowned.

"Quiet down everyone! That is why you wear the body armor and the eye protection, and why anything larger than an eight millimeter round is banned. We also use special rounds, related to the simulation rounds used in US military small arms. They are not lethal, but will leave quite a mark. If you do not wear eye protection, a round can blind, just like a paintball or airsoft round. This is all in the safety binder that you should have read, Miss Nishizumi."

"When do you use machine guns against students?" she asked, quietly, her ears burning. She hated calling attention to herself like this, but this was all new information, and it sounded pretty important to her.

"If the opposing team member is outside of their tank for any other reason than for a safety issue, they can be fired upon. For example, if their torso is out of their turret ring, they can be shot at, as well as when they are doing dismounted scouting. If they are digging, retracking their tank, or anything like that, they can be fired upon. But if they are aiding a tank whose crew is in danger, or if they are fleeing a defeated or burning tank, they are not to be shot at. There will be high visibility scarves or panels in each tank, so if you dismount for a safety reason, you should have one on you. Pass this on to your teams, shooting at someone with the bright, neon orange signalling device is against the rules, and the tank doing so will be disqualified. The only way that they are not to be disqualified is if the shot fired was on the way before the individual dismounted. We understand that there are some situations that can be interpreted differently, which is why our referees are specifically trained on what to do in these situations. Which leads me to the next point.

"This is very important, so everyone pay attention! If it is recognized at any point that there is a life threat on the field, a radio signal will go out. This will broadcast over any other signal being transmitted. If you hear this signal, you will cease all vehicular functions until told otherwise. This signal will be played tomorrow when everyone is present, so that there can be no confusion in regards to its use. The only exception to this rule is if you are moving your tank to help a tank in danger, during which time you are considered out of play. Each tank will have a radio control installed so that the commander can activate the disabled flag on their tank. So, if you are going to the aid of another tank, activate your flag to show that you are not in play. After the life threat is over, the judges and referees will decide how to proceed. But in the end, it is simple: any tank that fires upon a tank that is either going to the aid of another or has crew members dismounted to aid others will be immediately disqualified." At this he paused and looked right at her. "Is that understood, Miss _Nishizumi_?"

Once more, her ears burned with embarrassment, and she was confused why he was focusing on her in particular, as she had never shot at anyone who had been helping someone else. But then she recognized the emphasis on her family name. Oh. That's why. She nodded, face burning red. "Yes sir, I understand."

And then the lecture continued, and for the very first time, Miho wondered if it had been a mistake to come to the World Championship.


End file.
